


In The Bleak Midwinter

by Ptolemia



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Season/Series 02, Trans Male Character, everyone gets laid thats it thats the fic MERRY CHRISTMAS!!, roughly equal amounts of sex and contemplatory musings about the moon, trans alucard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 18:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17146835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ptolemia/pseuds/Ptolemia
Summary: Alucard comes home in time for Christmas, and is welcomed back with great enthusiasm.





	In The Bleak Midwinter

**Author's Note:**

> i have no excuse for any of this other than that its WHAT ALUCARD DESERVES... set probably a year or two post the end of season two? but its pretty open. oh and alucard is trans in this one. anyway - merry christmas to those who celebrate and merry just a regular day to those who dont! enjoy <3

Framed by starlight, even Dracula’s castle has a tender sort of beauty to it; sharp and crystalline against the cold night sky, but fragile, too, like spun sugar. And below, all the frozen world is holding its breath, silent like the space between heartbeats and bathed in tender moonlight.

 

Perched on a windowsill high up atop the frozen structure of the castle, Alucard pauses for a moment, ice on his lashes, his breath forming crystal clouds in the clear night air. Far below, the bushes rustle, and a deer goes bounding through the fresh-fallen snow and into the deeper woods before silence falls once more.

 

Alucard rests his head back on the widow-pane and smiles softly to himself, fancying that he can feel the starlight on his skin, that if he listens with enough intensity he’ll hear the music of the spheres float down from high above. Instead, he hears Sypha snoring through the thick-paned glass, the sound of Trevor’s heartbeat and of hers, soft and slow and sleepy when he tilts an ear toward the glass.

 

“They came back,” he says, grinning up at the moon, and then he hugs his knees to his chest and says, “they came back and I’m in love. God, I’m in love.”

The moon, for her part, says nothing. She’s very good at keeping secrets like that.

“I’m in _love_ ,” says Alucard, again, just for the way it sounds in his mouth, and the way it tastes when he says it.

And still the moon says nothing, but something about the way her light dances over his skin feels a little warmer for a moment. Alucard can’t help but think that she approves.

 

He sighs contentedly, takes a deep slow breath, and surveys his domain. Below him the endless forest rolls out toward the horizon, interrupted here and there by little islands of fields and farmsteads, by columns of chimney smoke that drift up into the cloudless sky above. It’s late, gone midnight, but in the nearest village there are lights still glowing in windows, fires still burning in the hearths. Well, good for them. They might be headed to the castle with pitchforks by the time the New Year rolls around, but tonight Alucard can’t help but feel a general sense of good-will toward them all. He is, for now at least, his mother’s son. The thought of happy families gathered around the fire, of children tucked up in bed and sleeping – or, if his memory serves him well, _not_ sleeping and bound to be in a terrible temper the next morning as a result – aches, but it’s a soft sort of ache. He misses it, but he’s glad it still exists elsewhere. He cannot begrudge them their joy.

 

In the distance, far enough away that even his superhuman vision cannot quite parse the darkness, a frozen lake gleams between the trees. If he squints he sees – or thinks he sees – two familiar figures, dancing in the moonlit night. And who knows? Perhaps he does. Stranger things have happened, especially on nights like these. Besides, the castle and its environs are only ever halfway tethered in such petty concepts as mortal time. Sometimes one can see things that used to be, or that might have been; or perhaps that still are, somewhere outside this fleeting world. And Alucard would like to believe that – that somewhere, somehow, they’ve found each other, and that they’re happy. So he doesn’t look too hard at the lake, and lets the figures dance in the corner of his vision, and allows himself to believe in impossible things.

 

He’s startled out of his reverie by the sound of the window behind him unlatching and being pulled inward.

“Are you coming in?” says Sypha, her hand soft on his arm when she reaches out for him. Ah, so she’s awake. He should have noticed when the snoring stopped, really.

He smiles lazily at her, flashing his fangs. “Invite me.”

“It’s your house, idiot,” she says, and then she cups his face in her tender hands and kisses him and says, “Come in, darling.”

 

And he does, slipping into the room with feline grace and closing the window softly as she backs him up against it and kisses him again, and again, and again.

He laughs. “What’s this in aid of?”

“We missed you,” she says, simply. “Did you get everything done you needed to?”

He nods. “I visited the house. It’s… I miss her.”

“Oh, my love,” she says, eyes soft as she brushes her fingers over his cheek.

“But there are flowers growing there, now. Somehow that makes it easier, I think.”

“Good. And next year there will be more, and after that more still. Maybe one day we can plant some of our own.”

“I’d like that.” He presses his forehead against hers. “I missed you too, you know.”

“I know.”

 

She gives him a fond little grin as she slips out of his grip and back toward the bed, a grin that makes his heart seize and his stomach tremble. He follows after her, his gaze drifting toward Trevor’s sleeping form with amusement.

“Is he wearing my shirt?”

She ignores him, leaning over to gently nudge Trevor awake.

“You don’t need to-” begins Alucard.

She raises an eyebrow at him. “You think he’ll forgive me if I don’t?”

Trevor makes a sad little mewling noise as he stirs, blinking up at Sypha in confusion. “What the-”

“He’s back,” she says.

 

Trevor sits bolt upright at that, shoving hair out of his eyes and beaming delightedly over at Alucard. “Get over here,” he grunts, tugging Alucard down onto the bed when he reaches out a hand.

Alucard goes willingly, and laughs at the stupid, soppy expression on Trevor’s face.

“Miss me, Belmont?”

Trevor curls a hand into his hair and drags him down into a kiss, “Of course I-” another kiss, “-missed you-” and another, “-bastard-” another kiss, and then he pulls back and lets Alucard settle into his lap properly, eyes roaming over him as though he’s cataloguing every feature. His gaze lingers on a fresh cut across Alucard’s palm, but he says nothing.

“You’re going soft,” says Alucard.

Trevor pulls his hips down so they’re flush against his own, and shifts up against him suggestively. “I’m definitely not.”

“Ah, Trevor. Always ready to lower the tone.”

 

There’s a shift of fabric before Sypha settles down on Trevor’s thighs behind him. “In this temperature, that’s an impressive feat. You should be flattered, darling.”

“Oh, I am,” says Alucard, letting his head drop back as she mouths along his shoulder, pressing bruising kisses down the line of his throat.

She hums contentedly, her hands sliding under his shirt as she presses up against his back.

Alucard feels her breasts shift against him through the flimsy cotton of his shirt, and frowns. “Are you naked? Already? How did you even-”

“Perks of a loosely fitted nightgown,” she says, brightly; “I can lower the tone just as fast as Trevor.”

 

“I love you,” he says, fervently, twisting round so she can kiss him properly, on the mouth. “I love you so much, I-” she cuts him off with another kiss, twisting her hand into his hair and tugging sharply.

“I love you too,” she says, eyes glittering in the moonlight. “Now, take your shirt off.”

 

Alucard doesn’t need further prompting. He tugs his shirt up and over his head in one fluid movement, shuddering as Trevor runs his hands up his thighs, and Sypha reaches round his waist to unbuckle his belts. Her hands drift lower once the belts are pulled aside, skating over the sleek fabric of his trousers with enough pressure to make his skin tingle, but not enough for anything else. He tries to cant his hips forward, chasing the touch, but Trevor has his thighs pinned, rough-calloused thumbs running carefully over his hipbones.

Alucard growls, but Trevor just laughs up at him, his expression fond. “Such a brat.”

Alucard surges forward, pressing himself up against Trevor with a biting kiss, tugging on his lip until he tastes blood. “I could tear your fucking throat out, Belmont. Watch what you say.”

Trevor’s panting slightly as he pulls back, eyes wide, his pupils completely blown. “I love you.”

“Christ,” says Alucard, grinning into the next kiss, “you’re a fucking mess, Trevor, you know that?”

“Yeah,” says Trevor, and he’s laughing as he says it, but there’s something brittle in his eyes that makes Alucard pause, just for a moment.

“And… and I love you too,” he says, a little softer, because he knows what it’s like to have fragile things down in the heart of you. He knows what it’s like to need things to be said, properly, out loud, so that they’re real and not just dreams of belonging places.

 

This time, when Trevor laughs, it reaches all the way up to his eyes, and beams out of him like sunlight, so bright that Alucard can barely hold his gaze, and so warm that it feels like it might burn.

 

Sypha takes advantage of his momentary distraction to get a firm hold on his shoulders and roll him onto his back. He’s about to complain, but then she’s on top of him, drenched in moonlight and gloriously naked, and he doesn’t really have it in him to grumble about that. She stretches out luxuriously, clearly enjoying the attention, and winks over at Trevor.

“I was in the middle of something, there,” he says, hauling himself upright and leaning over to kiss her.

“Well, I couldn’t let you boys have all the fun, could I?” she says, gasping slightly when Alucard slides his thigh up between hers.

 

She bucks against him, hot and wet and surprisingly slick already against the fabric of his pants, although Alucard doubts he’s in a much better state himself, to be honest. It’s only been a week, maybe less, but he’s missed this – missed _them_ – a hell of a lot more than he’d realised.

 

Sypha rocks her hips lazily, one hand clasped in Alucard’s, the other fisting into Trevor’s hair as she pulls him in for another kiss. Alucard shifts against her, trying to catch some of the friction of her movements, but she pulls back with a grin, and curls her fingers into the waistband of his pants, tugging them down below his knees and sitting back on her heels. She runs her eyes over his now-naked form with transparent hunger.

“Now,” she says, biting her lip and tracing a single finger along the muscle of his inner thigh, “what am I going to do with you?”

Trevor presses a kiss to the back of her neck and stares down at Alucard with his eyes wide, clearly not trusting himself to say anything. Probably wise, that. Alucard trails a hand down over his own stomach and along the curve of his hipbone just to watch the way his breath hitches at the sight, and grins.

“I’m not endlessly patient, you know,” he says, slowly letting his hand dip between his legs toward the slick heat at the core of him, “I mean, if you don’t have any specific idea I can always just…” he slides a finger in, wet enough already for there to be no real resistance. He pulls back, slick up to the knuckle, and raises his hand to his mouth to lick it clean. The whole thing is more for their benefit than his, really, but it has the desired effect; Trevor makes a startled choking noise, and Sypha surges forward, crawling up over him planting kisses up the length of his body as she goes. In a flash she’s sat on his chest with her knees either side of his head, cradling his face in her hands and gazing down at him as though he personally strung the stars in the sky.

 

“You are so pretty,” she says, as he grips her thighs and tugs her closer, “you are so pretty and perfect and- ah-”

He presses another kiss to her inner thigh, grinning as her hands fumble for purchase on the headboard, her face flushed and her eyes bright as the moon where it beams in through the window. “Come here,” he purrs, pulling her hips down toward him. He doesn’t have to tell her twice.

 

The weight of her pressed against his mouth is impossibly soft, warm and familiar and comforting, but also somehow overwhelming, as though the whole world has narrowed down to a single bright point where their bodies meet. He licks up into her and all his senses are Sypha, Sypha, Sypha – the taste of her, the way her hips buck against him, the stifled gasps she makes and the way her thighs tense under his palms. She’s strong, he thinks, wiry and fierce beyond what she might at first appear, swaddled up in those Speaker robes. But she’s soft, too, in a way that he isn’t, that Trevor isn’t. All curves and tender, unmarked skin. She’s perfect.

 

He’s so absorbed in Sypha that he almost forgets Trevor is there at all, until he feels his trousers being tugged all the way off and he feels the mattress shift, calloused palms smoothing up his legs, hot breath on the inside of his thigh. He hooks a leg over Trevor’s shoulder and digs his heel into his back and gasps when he feels the blunt heat of spit-slicked fingers, pressing up against him and then in with a little shudder. Two at once, straight off the bat, because Trevor _knows_ him, and that’s… a lot. He writhes against the sheets, hardly knowing what to do with himself between the sudden heavy weight of being seen, and known, and cared for, and the stretch inside him, and the way that Sypha’s making breathy feather-light sounds as she clutches the headboard above his head. And then there’s the hot warmth of Trevor’s mouth on him, and… and…

 

And he thinks, oh, fuck, well, that’s it. This is how he’s going to fucking die. Being eaten by a Belmont; it’s sort of ironic, really.

 

After which point he very rapidly loses absolutely all of the brain function required to understand anything as complex as irony – or indeed to understand anything at all. He feels like floating, insubstantial as the moonbeams that drape over their forms atop the bed. He’s weightless, utterly, and the only things that hold him to the fragile earth are Trevor, and Sypha, and mouths and gasps and the heat of their bodies pressed against his own, and the world drifts away until he can hardly tell one body from another, or his pleasure from theirs, or up from down or anything, anything, anything at all. Only that he loves them, and is loved. He’d remember that at the end of all things, he thinks, beyond names or form or substance.

 

The moon is bright outside the castle, and he is in love. That’s all.

 

He returns to himself a little dazed, with Sypha stroking sweat-damp hair away from his face and Trevor still smug between his thighs, wet-mouthed and beaming when Sypha pulls him up for a kiss. She goes to slide a hand between his thighs, then raises an eyebrow.

“You’re done?”

“Well, I had a free hand,” says Trevor, the red in his cheeks turned bluish in the moonlight, “and you guys seemed pretty busy, so, uh…”

Sypha giggles, and Alucard follows suit, laughter giving way to yawns as they bundle him into the middle of the bed by silent consensus. Well, he has been away, after all. It’s probably his turn.

 

They trade lazy kisses in the moonlight, settling against one another as palms begin to still and everyone’s breathing slowly returns to an approximation of normality. Alucard drifts, hallway between sleep and wakefulness, until his eyes begin to drift slowly closed. It’s warmer, now, somehow, and he’s been travelling all day, and he’s tired, and-

 

“Oh,” he says, eyes snapping open as a sudden thought occurs to him, “hey, uh-”

“What?” says Sypha, with a yawn.

“Mmmph?” says Trevor.

Alucard blinks up at the ceiling. “It’s, uh – well. Merry Christmas.”

“Christmas is for losers,” scoffs Sypha. “I’m just glad you’re home.”

Trevor says nothing, but his arm is heavy and warm where it rests on Alucard’s chest. After a moment, he begins to snore, and Sypha pulls a pillow over her head with a resigned little groan.

 

And so, warm and sated between the two of them, Alucard smiles softly to himself, and takes one last glance toward the window and the bright-eyed moon, before he pulls the covers close, and closes his eyes, and drifts into a dreamless, perfect, snow-lined sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> so UH ive never really written anything like this before but, this fic came to me in a dream and I felt duty bound to write it. thats 100% serious i dreamed this fic and I believe that the influence of the moon (which is very large and very beautiful at the moment) is mostly to blame for my abrupt need to write smut for the first time ever on christmas eve. anyway, i hope it was alright & if not what im saying is, u should blame the moon, who is clearly a Bad Influence on me in many ways
> 
> also, a lot of my headcanons for the trio are pretty flexible, but the hill i will absolutely Die on is that sypha and trevor both snore like absolute fucking bastards, and also both deny it at all costs if confronted. 
> 
> as ever, comments and kudos are hugely appreciated and help keep the Writing Gears going in my brain <3


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